


Parallel Hospital

by hutchynstarsk



Category: Starsky and Hutch - Fandom
Genre: AU, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-16
Updated: 2012-03-16
Packaged: 2017-11-02 00:43:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/363131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hutchynstarsk/pseuds/hutchynstarsk





	Parallel Hospital

=  
Parallel Hospital

Parallel Hospital  
by Allie   
  
STARSKY’S APARTMENT  
  
Hutch climbed the steps to Starsky’s apartment two at a time. Why wasn’t his curly-haired partner already running down the steps to meet him, chastising him for being late? Hutch had his excuse ready and everything. The traffic had been pretty bad.  
  
He yanked the door open—only to see a dark apartment. “Starsk.” Long, authoritative strides took him into the bedroom. He yanked back Starsky’s covers.  
  
A confused, sleepy Starsky blinked up at him. And frowned, as if he almost recognized Hutch.  
  
“Mr. Hutchinson?” he asked.  
  
Hutch blinked. Then scowled. “Enough with the innocent routine. If we’re late, it’s your fault now! Get out of there and throw some clothes on!” With this, he yanked the sheet the rest of the way off.  
  
Starsky, clad in his drawstring pants and a red shirt, looked at him in alarm. “Where are we going?” He reached for the covers again, easing them back up over himself, as if he’d gotten shy suddenly. Starsky…shy? He was generally the most extraordinary exhibitionist.  
  
“Knock it off, Starsk. The amnesia routine’s been done.”  _Yeah…by me._  He swallowed. Would Starsky really try to get even, after all this time? “Up. You heard me.” He propelled Starsky by the elbow from his bed and stumbling into the bathroom. “I’ll throw your clothes in,” he shouted, slamming the door.  
  
He stopped to think, and lean against the door a moment. Starsky was being…odd. It wasn’t like him to try messing with Hutch’s brain. Not on a work day, anyway.  
  
#  
  
Dave Starsky slid into the jeans the bossy blond guy had given him, and the shirt. It didn’t seem like a very fancy outfit, for going somewhere. Maybe it was just another doctor visit. But still, that didn’t explain what he was doing in this strange house, instead of the hospital.  
  
He glanced in the mirror—and what he saw gave him pause.  
  
He stopped, rubbed his cheek. No scar.  
  
How did they remove something like that?  
  
He braced his suddenly trembling hands on the washstand.  _What kind of crazy experiment are they doing on me?_  
  
Pounding on the door. “Come on, Starsk! Hurry up!” yelled the impatient blond. And what was he doing here, anyway? Acting all high and mighty. From what David remembered of him, he’d been a quiet sort, and kept to himself.  
  
He supposed all he could do was play along until they let him know what they wanted. Maybe it was all some crazy test to see if he was ready to be let out yet.  
  
He rubbed the slight stubble on his chin, decided it would do, and swung the door open.   
  
“Ready.”  
  
  
  
THE PRECINCT  
  
“Starsky. Hutchinson. In my office.”  
  
Hutch rose and swung himself wearily into the captain’s office. Starsky followed quietly. What was with Starsky today? He’d kept his head down and watched everything, not acting like himself at all. For one thing, he hadn’t argued with Hutch about one single thing.   
  
To test it, Hutch had ordered him to go get coffee. Starsky had to look around the room—with a curiously blank expression—before heading in the right direction.  
  
Very un-Starsky-like. If this was a fake amnesia job, he was doing awfully an good job.   
  
But you couldn’t just spontaneously get a case of real amnesia overnight—could you? He hadn’t been hit over the head recently or anything.  
  
_Of course I suppose all the times he did get hit over the head with no apparent effect could’ve suddenly caught up—_  
  
“Hutchinson!” barked Dobey.  
  
  
He jumped. “Yes, captain.”  
  
Starsky was watching him carefully, with that watchful, internalized expression on his face—as if he were gauging everything, instead of teasing, participating, or kidding around. Hutch wanted to nudge him and tell him to knock it off, but that hadn’t work this morning.  
  
“You two…” began the captain, and started telling them something they were in trouble for. Something wrong with Starsky’s reports.   
  
“I’ll redo them,” said Starsky.   
  
Hutch turned to blink and stare at him. Dobey stopped talking. His mouth actually opened a little bit. Then he snapped it shut.  
  
“Er—ahem. Of course you will.”  
  
Starsky glanced at Hutch, as if for support—or asking what he’d done wrong. Then he looked down again.  
  
“If that’s all, captain?” Hutch got up.  
  
“Er, yes. That’s all.” The wind seemed to be gone from Dobey’s sails. “Dismissed, Starsky.”  
  
Starsky got up and headed obediently from the room.  
  
Dobey crooked his finger for Hutch to come nearer. “Something wrong with him?” said Dobey in an undertone.  
  
“I don’t know. But I aim to find out.”   
  
Hutch strode from the room with a purposeful gait.  
  
“Starsk. Hey, Starsky.” He caught up with him by the water cooler, and grabbed his arm lightly, to turn him around.  
  
Starsky jumped a mile, spilling his water all down his shirt and pants.   
  
“Ah—” He swore, and swiped at it, turned to frown at Hutch. “What’s the matter now? Did I say something wrong in there?”  
  
“No, you’re being a very good cop. Probably bucking for a promotion—hoping to get promoted over my head.” He watched, but Starsky didn’t crack a smile, just went back to wiping at his shirt in a preoccupied manner.  
  
“Uh—Starsk, you wanna come down with me to the interrogation room? We need to talk to a suspect. B and E. Won’t take long.”  
  
“Sure.” Starsky fell into step behind him—not at his side. Just another of the growing list of things wrong with him today.  
  
Hutch got him inside Interrogation Room B, and shut the door.  
  
“Uh—Hutch,” said Starsky, pronouncing his name carefully. “I don’t see any—”  
  
Hutch turned around and slammed him to the wall. “All right. Who are you, and what have you done with my partner?”  
  
Panic filled the familiar dark blue eyes—eyes that looked at him as if he were a terrifying stranger.  
  
“Look, mister…” Starsky raised his hands. “I don’t have a problem with you, okay? So you just want to let me up…”  
  
Hutch gave him another slam against the wall for good measure. The Starsky he knew wouldn’t be intimidated by that—Starsky knew he was probably stronger, anyway—but this guy looked scared out of his skull. He raised his hands again and swallowed. His Adam’s apple bobbed.  
  
“What do you want?”  
  
“Just finish this phrase for me. One little phrase, and you can go—if you get it right.” Hutch bored his eyes into Starsky, using his ‘bad cop’ interrogation gaze. Starsky watched him, sweat filming his brow.  
  
“Finish this phrase. Me and…?”  
  
Starsky swallowed, and shrugged. “‘You?’ Me and you?”  
  
“Wrong, bozo.” He slammed Starsky into a chair. “Now talk!”  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
CABRILLO STATE MENTAL HOSPITAL  
  
  
Starsky woke up in a small white room, in a strange white bed.   
  
There were bars on the window.  
  
He sat up, and looked down at his white pajamas. Memories of Cabrillo State came hauntingly back.  
  
He got up and padded to a small bathroom, took care of things, and stared into the tiny, faded mirror. He scrubbed his fingers back through his hair. Was it his imagination, or was it a little longer, more curly and wild?  
  
And he knew he wasn’t imagining the scar on his cheek. He stopped, and blinked at it. He rubbed the thick, puckered white line. It didn’t hurt. He stared in dismay in the mirror.  
  
_Oh, hell. What have I got myself into this time, Hutch_?  
  
#  
  
Ken took a shaky smoke, cupping his hand around his cigarette and hunching over it in the cold outside the hospital. Man, he’d needed that. His twelve hour shift had been particularly tough today. They’d had to wrestle down a disturbed patient and subdue him. Ken still found that disturbing, even though he’d been here for almost three months now.  
  
He smoked down to the butt, and headed reluctantly back inside. Only a few more minutes and he could clock out and go home.  
  
He spotted a patient walking down the hall, his walk rangy and cautious, looking around, as if he were seeing the place for the first time. It was that curly-haired guy, the vet. What was his name again? Stark. Stark something.  
  
The Vietnam veteran spotted him, and stopped, rooted to the spot, his eyes focusing on Ken with intensity. In spite of himself, Ken swallowed. He knew some of these guys could be dangerous, but this guy was just one of the regular patients, wasn’t he?  
  
“Hutch,” said Stark. He started forward, looking at Ken as if he had suddenly become the most important person in the building.  
  
He found himself taking a step backwards. ‘Hutch?’ No one called him Hutch here. He was Mr. Ken, or Mr. Hutchinson—mostly Mr. Ken. That was supposed to help the patients feel more at home or something.   
  
“Uh…” If he could make it back two more steps, he could press the emergency call button, and help would come running. He stepped back again.  
  
“Hutch. It’s me.” He grabbed Ken by the arms, and looked into his face, searchingly. “What’s going on, huh? I wake up here and—and I’m…there’s this scar, on my face, see?” He turned his cheek, and touched it, pointing. “And…what’s wrong, Hutch? Not supposed to talk to me, or something? Are we undercover again? And I’m not supposed to know?” This last conspiracy theory he said in a whisper.  
  
Ken took one more wild step and pressed the button. His heart pounded hard. This wasn’t what he’d had in mind, when he signed up for a profession in the medical field. Work as an orderly, get some experience, maybe move on to something else…  
  
“Hutch?” The curly haired guy tilted his head, his eyebrows rising. “Don’t you know me?”  
  
Here they came. Loud running steps, two heavy orderlies, the guys who knew this place top to bottom, who knew what they were doing far better than Ken did.  
  
The curly haired guy glanced past him at them, for the first time registering alarm. “Uh—you’ve got the wrong idea, guys. I’m just talking to Hutch here.” He gestured towards Ken, reaching a hand out towards his shoulder.  
  
The first orderly tackled, slamming him back against the wall with a loud ‘oof’ as breath left the vet’s lungs.   
  
“Hey!” he gasped, breathless, angry now. “Stop that! I didn’t do anything!” He began to struggle.  
  
Ken winced. Wrong move. These guys didn’t have a lot of tact. They’d continue to use force as long as the patient struggled.   
  
He watched as the men subdued the curly vet, and found himself feeling almost sorry for the ex-soldier. He suppressed a shudder, as they got him on his chest on the floor, his hands wrenched behind his back.  
  
There had to be better jobs than this. Eight jobs in the last two years. Maybe it was time to move on to number nine. He turned, and walked down the hall.  
  
“Hutch.”   
  
One word, a call—a plea for help. One word, but it gave him pause. He stopped, and looked back. The curly haired ex-soldier was staring up at him from his position on the floor. His hands were pulled behind his back and he couldn’t move. He stared up at Ken pleadingly, and almost—almost as if he’d been betrayed.  
  
#  
  
Starsky ranged the padded room. Okay, so Hutch didn’t recognize him. He slammed himself against the padded wall.  _Damn it. What went wrong?_  Now here he was, in a straight jacket. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair. He sank to the ground, and tried some of the breathing exercises Hutch had taught him, tried to slow himself, breathe, think calm thoughts.  
  
Something was very, very wrong. If Hutch didn’t remember him…  
  
_Maybe this is all a bad dream. Yeah. Maybe it’s those mushrooms on Huggy’s pizza. I told him you’ve got to be careful about mushrooms. Think he’d know to listen to me by now._  
  
He sniffed, and rubbed his face on his shoulder, trying to wipe away his tears.  
  
#  
  
Ken watched the patient through the one-way mirror. He couldn’t help feeling guilty. This guy didn’t seem dangerous, not really. It was Ken’s fault that they’d used so much force on this guy, and locked him in the padded room. Yeah, he was out of it—thought he was a spy or something. But…  
  
Ken swallowed, and slid down to sit against the wall. He fumbled for his cigarettes, and looked around—no one would notice, not one quick smoke. He flicked his lighter, and took a drag.   
  
Great. Forgot about an ashtray. He looked around, and tapped his cigarette out in the corner of the room. He slid it away to finish later, and then rose to his feet. Maybe he could talk to the guy, calm him down. After all, he seemed to think he knew Ken. And one guy in a straightjacket couldn’t overpower him.  
  
“Hey, uh—Dave? Mr. Dave Starsky? Is that right?” He regarded the chart, walking quietly into the room, and looked at the curly headed guy.  
  
Who sat watching Ken cautiously, with a tear-stained face. He seemed to grow very still, as if holding himself carefully, to keep from saying something he shouldn’t.  
  
“Uh—that’s correct. And you’re…Dr. Hutchinson?” Starsky’s voice cracked, and he cleared his throat.  
  
“Uh—no. I’m just an orderly. Mr. Ken, or Mr. Hutchinson.”  
  
Starsky nodded, looking down. “Right, Hutch—uh, Hutchinson.”  
  
“So, um, you…think you know me? Maybe…maybe you met me somewhere before?” said Ken, not sure of himself, not sure how you were supposed to talk to people with delusions. All he knew was that this guy needed to talk to somebody. And the docs weren’t exactly lining up to fix him.  
  
Starsky looked up at him, tearful and pleading. “C’mon, Hutch. This is me. Are they listening, or something? Can’t…can’t we just talk?”  
  
Ken blinked at him. “I’m talking to you. No one’s around.”  
  
“Cameras or somethin’, then?” He jerked his head towards the wall.   
  
“Uh—no.”  
  
Starsky stared at him, with a disconcerting intensity. Then he nodded. “Okay. You’re telling the truth. There aren’t. So why aren’t ya talkin’ to me? Don’t tell me ya really don’t know me?”  
  
“Um…I’ve seen you around, of course. You came in for treatment since I arrived—just last week. Don’t you remember? I don’t believe we’ve spoken before today.” Ken ran a hand back through his hair. What was it about this guy that made him feel so disconcerted?  
  
Starsky’s head went down. He nodded, swallowing hard, and shifted his shoulders inside his straightjacket. “Never met me before,” he mumbled.  
  
Ken took pity on him. “Who did you think I was, Mr.—Starsky or Dave?”  
  
“Starsky,” said the man in a sad little voice. “Sometimes you used to—to call me ‘Starsk.’”  
  
“Starsk.”  
  
He nodded. His eyes had a wet look, as if he was barely holding back tears.  
  
“So, how did we know each other?” said Ken, settling himself a little more comfortably on the soft, padded floor. He let the clipboard rest on his knee. It wasn’t going to provide any answers here.  
  
Starsky cleared his throat. “Ahem—um, we were cops.” He risked another glance at Ken’s face, and then quickly looked down again. “We were partners. Detectives.”  
  
“So, what did we detect?” He ran a hand back through his hair again. Wishing this was over. Wishing he was home, drinking some nice bourbon, anything to take his mind off the misery here before him.  
  
Starsky looked up again. “You sure this isn’t just a joke? You’re gettin’ even with me for something, like when you pretended to have amnesia?”  
  
“Amnesia?” Ken blinked at him.  _What kind of friend would fake that?_  
  
“Yeah, uh, I kinda had it coming. I guess. Anyway, this is just something like that, isn’t it? Right, Hutch?”   
  
He looked so hopeful, that, for a moment, Ken almost wished he could say ‘yes.’  
  
  
  
  
  
CHAPTER TWO  
  
THE PRECINCT—INTERROGATION ROOM B  
  
Hutch stared at Starsky, at this Starsky-like shell of a man. He’d broken down—hadn’t taken much interrogation, either—and told his story.  
  
He’d never seen Hutch in his life, not in this capacity. He vaguely recognized him as one of the orderlies from the mental hospital. He’d been laid off from his job at the factory, and, struggling with depression and aftereffects from ‘Nam, he’d attempted suicide. The police found him in time, and sent him to the mental hospital to recover.  
  
Starsky had rubbed his nose and looked at Hutch half defiantly, as if daring him to say something. This Starsky seemed defiant, frightened, and closed off. Not like his Starsky, not at all. Except sometimes…  
  
Hutch stared now at the man who now sat with his face in his hands, rubbing his face, trying to regain his calm. The man that seemed frightened by Hutch.  
  
 _This is like something from Star Trek._  He ought to ask Huggy about it. The Bear knew—or claimed to know—some things about the oddities of life, as he liked to say. Last week, he’d been reading a book on Area 51. This ought to be right up his alley.  
  
Unless, of course, Starsky was really going crazy this time…  
  
“Starsky. Uh—Dave.”  
  
The man looked up, a twinge of fear in his gaze. Hutch made an effort to soften his voice, as if he were talking to a nervous stranger, not his partner.  
  
“We’re going to find out what’s going on here. If there’s—been some kind of cosmic mix-up, I’ll straighten it out.”  
  
“And send me back to the loony bin?” His smiled creaked up, painful and awkward. “Not sure I want that. But hey, man, I can’t impersonate a cop for very long.” He spread his arms in surrender. “You figured me out in, what, half a day?”  
  
“Less than that. I knew something was wrong this morning, just not what.” He eyed Starsky skeptically. “Listen, maybe I can get a doctor to talk to you…”  
  
“No! No doctors!” Starsky sprang to his feet, the alarm in his eyes palpable. “Think I haven’t had enough of them lately?” He paced the room in agitation. “They’d just send me back to State.” He turned back to Hutch. “Listen, don’t put yourself out. I’ll just take off. I’m sure you’re buddy will show up eventually.”  
  
Hutch collared him by the door before he could leave. “Not a chance. Until he is back, you’re going to be my shadow, buddy. You’re the ticket to getting him back. And no offense, but if you were in a mental hospital, maybe it’s better I look after you, anyway.”  
  
Dave Starsky sat down again, unhappy but resigned.  
  
  
  
  
CABRILLO STATE HOSPITAL  
  
  
Starsky was good. He kept his head down, obeyed all the rules, talked to the doctors in a flat voice, saying he wasn’t getting violent, he’d just thought he recognized Mr. Hutchinson from somewhere. Of course, he’d been wrong.  
  
Soon he was back in his ‘own’ bed in the low-security room, the one that even so had bars on the windows.  
  
He lay awake, his hands behind his head. Down the hall, someone was crying, quietly, like they’d lost hope.  
  
Nightmare. This was a nightmare.   
  
Hutch. Worst of all, he’d lost Hutch. He saw him sometimes, passing in the hall, and averted his eyes quickly, so no one would see his tears.  
  
The Ken Hutchinson in this world—this crazy, horrible world—looked closed off, quiet and uncertain about everything behind his horned-rimmed glasses, his faceless uniform.  
  
One day, he stopped by to give Starsky his pills, and check his room for anything dangerous. They had to do that once in awhile, for anyone who’d been sent here for trying to hurt themselves.   
  
Apparently that was what Starsky was in for.   
  
#  
  
Ken set the mattress back in place, and tucked the sheets in properly. At least Starsky kept his room neatly. Starsky stood behind him, watching. He seemed to radiate sorrow.  
  
“There. All done. Ready for this?” He held out the paper cup with two aspirin in it. Starsky had complained of a headache several hours earlier, and only now was he getting something for it.  
  
“Thank you.” Starsky took it carefully. His voice croaked, and he cleared his throat.  
  
Ken risked a glance at his face as Starsky tilted back the cup, and then reached for the water sitting on his side table.   
  
“Are you all right?”  
  
“Hm?” Starsky glanced at him. For a second, that sad face looked open and vulnerable, almost—wounded.   
  
Starsky swallowed, getting control of his features. “Um—yeah, Hut—uh, Mr.…Hutchinson,” he croaked. “Would you—would you excuse me?”  
  
He fled the room.  
  
Ken followed, slowly. He found him leaning against the wall further down the hall.  
  
“Listen,” said Ken. “I’m not really supposed to do this, but…is there somebody you’d like to call? I can slip you into the office. Maybe talking to someone you know would help?”  
  
His shoulders stayed bowed. “There’s no one here I’d know, if I don’t know y—” He straightened suddenly. “Huggy.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Maybe I’d know Huggy. Thanks Hut—Mr. Hutchinson.” He cast the orderly a glance, uncertain, a little awkward still. “Lead the way.”  
  
Ken led the way.  
  
With something to do—a mission—the torpor left Dave. He called directory assistance while Ken stood by and watched (and kept glancing out into the hall through the door’s window, worriedly, checking to see they weren’t caught).  
  
“Huggy Bear. Bear. That’s his last name. No, I don’t know… Brown. Yeah. Howard Brown. Try that.” He waited, tapping his long fingers on the table. “Please— Huggy?” he said. “Huggy, man, how you been? It’s great to hear your v—” He cut off. “Starsky. Dave Starsky. Don’t you remember me?” Another pause. Longer. This time, Dave’s back sagged. “No…I’m sorry. I must have the wrong…” His voice broke. “All right.” He hung up quietly, and stood there with his hands on the phone, looking lost.  
  
“Try someone else,” said Ken.  
  
“All—all right. Long distance okay?” He looked at Ken, but he was already raising the phone and dialing. Ken nodded. What else could he say? For some reason, he didn’t want this guy being so depressed. And if helping him sneak a phone call or two helped, well, he’d risk his job for that. It wasn’t as though this was a gravy job anyway.  
  
This time, he spoke into the phone more carefully, more hesitantly. “Ma?” A long, long pause. “Oh. I’m—sorry to bother you, Mr. Kowalski.” He hung up, and turned to Ken with haunted eyes, taking a shaky breath. “She’s dead. I’ll bet that’s why I’m in here, in this world. She’s dead.” He scraped a hand back through his curls, looking haunted. “I—he—probably couldn’t handle it.”  
  
“Sorry, Dave. Look, uh, you should probably get back to your room. If you want to call someone else I’ll help you tomorrow.” He looked nervously out the window, and then motioned Dave out. The patient went obediently.  
  
Ken slipped away, harrowed by the look of loss on the man’s face. He really didn’t know, did he? Either he’d had a psychotic break with reality—always a possibility, especially in here—or he really wasn’t who he was supposed to be.  
  
Maybe, in some alternate world, he really did know Ken.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
HUTCH’S APARTMENT  
  
  
Hutch moved his legs so Dave Starsky, the alternate version, could walk past him and seat himself glumly on the couch. He stared dully at the TV screen, barely moving, seeming to not care what was on, as long as it was something.  
  
Starsky by now would be complaining about the old British mystery, or wrestling him for the remote, or suggesting they play Monopoly instead. Or pulling out one of his half-finished model ships, or bugging Hutch about something, or trying to convince him to go out to a bar with him and pick up some cute girls.  
  
Hutch shook his head. Thinking like that only made him miss the real Starsky more, and that didn’t help this very sad Dave at all.  
  
“So, anything you want to talk about?” Hutch asked quietly.  
  
“No.”  
  
“Oh. Um, nothing at all?”  
  
The ex-soldier gave him a look, not unlike one of Starsky’s disgusted looks. If only there was some life in those eyes…  
  
Hutch got up and left the couch in a hurry, before the soldier could see tears wet his gaze. He ran his fingers back through his hair—a gesture he seemed to be picking up more than ever from the soldier. He blinked down at the four or five pale hairs that had come away in his hand. Great. He was shedding.   
  
“You going bald, cop?”   
  
Hutch jumped. The soldier had wandered over and was regarding his hand and then him curiously.  
  
“Uh—hope not.” Hutch tried a smile. “Want something to eat?”  
  
“Yeah. Sure. Why not? Got anything good?” He wandered towards the fridge. Dave was, if possible, even less picky of an eater than Starsky. He seemed glad to have any non-hospital food, and had even eaten Hutch’s salads with little more than a grimace of distaste.  
  
Hutch moved to the kitchen and began to fix scrambled eggs, tortillas, and canned spinach. He might as well get Starsky to eat good when he could. Even if it wasn’t really Starsky.  
  
He’d started the arrangement, not letting Dave out of his sight, making him stay over and eat here. He covered for him at work, and kept him on a short leash. So far, the soldier had accepted it fairly mildly.  
  
“At least it’s better than the hospital,” he’d said once. Actually, he seemed to be doing better with someone to look after him. He seemed calmer when Hutch was around, less wild-eyed and nervous. And he definitely appreciated the food. He sat down now, and ate everything without a murmur of complaint.  
  
As much as this should have pleased Hutch—and in some ways did—it also made him want to see Starsky more than ever.  
  
“So, uh, let’s go over the day again, the day you arrived here.” They’d been doing this for days.  
  
“Here we go again.” Dave rolled his eyes, and scraped back his chair. “If you’re going there again, you can eat by yourself.” He grabbed his jacket off the back of a chair and walked out back, towards the greenhouse, his strides long and angry.  
  
Hutch blinked down at his scrambled eggs. They seemed to blur before his eyes. After a moment, he got up and followed Dave.  
  
“Hey. You. Come on. We’re going back to Huggy. Maybe he’s finally found something.” He hooked an arm through the soldier’s, and turned him back towards the house.  
  
  
  
  
HUGGY BEAR’S  
  
  
Business was slow today. Huggy was reading behind the counter, his face set with concentration.  
  
“Tell me that’s research for Starsky, and not something for fun,” said Hutch in a clipped voice.  
  
Huggy put the book down. “Hutch, my main man. Of course it’s research.” He nodded to Dave, who nodded back. Dave plopped his rear on one of the bar seats and crossed his arms. “Got anything to eat?”  
  
“If you’d finished your tortilla…” said Hutch.  
  
Huggy raised his hands. “Now, now, no bickering, you two. He ain’t your Starsky, Hutch, so you’ve got to cut him some slack.” He leaned back, and called for a burger “with everything on it,” then turned back to Hutch, and led him away. “Give him something to do while we talk. I’ve been reading and consulting with some experts, and…”  
  
He glanced back, to see that Dave wasn’t listening. “All we can figure out is, this Dave Starsky was so desperate to get out of his own life, he triggered something that made him come here, instead. If he already tried to kill himself, and that didn’t work, his desperation…well. It must’ve gone pretty high.”   
  
Huggy swallowed. “I’m not saying it makes complete sense to me, but there was a full moon that night, and…” He shrugged. “Maybe somethin’ happened—like, once in a blue moon. I’ve read some things… And you know yourself the weirdoes come out when it’s a full moon. Now I’m not sayin’ he’s weird, but the guy has issues. Are you keepin’ a careful eye on him, my man?” He looked at Hutch closely.  
  
Hutch nodded. He glanced back at the Dave Starsky—the wrong Dave Starsky—who sat at the bar. He was holding a mostly-empty ketchup jar up to look into it, while hitting the bottom of the bottle.  
  
“Good,” said Huggy. “Because if something happens to this guy, our Starsky can’t come back, ya dig?”  
  
Hutch swallowed and looked at Huggy quickly, his brow wrinkling. “Are you sure?”  
  
“Sure I’m sure. Think about it. He said he used to have some extra scars, and his hair used to be longer. Now he looks exactly the same—exactly—as our man. It’s like their brains, or auras, or souls, switched places or something. Not their bodies.”  
  
Behind them, a loud yelp. Starsky jumped up, sputtering, trying to wipe ketchup off his face. He’d gotten some to come out finally.  
  
Hutch’s mouth twitched. “Maybe he’s not completely different, though.”  
  
“No, he ain’t. But Hutch.” Huggy grabbed his arm. “Don’t get too attached. You’ve got to send this one back—you can’t keep them both.”  
  
Hutch digested this. “So when the moon’s full next time…”   
  
“We can hope. If I know Starsk, he’ll be wanting to come back, he’ll be thinking on it real hard. And as long as this guy isn’t more desperate to stay here…” He shrugged. “Well, we can only wait and see—and in the meantime, I’ll keep researching, in case I got something wrong somewhere.”  
  
“Yeah, you do that. Thank, Hug.” Hutch gave him a pat on the shoulder, and walked back to his curly-headed charge.   
  
“Need some help there, buddy?”  
  
  
  
  
  
  
STARSKY’S PLACE  
  
“So does anything look familiar?”  
  
Hutch watched as Dave ranged around his double’s apartment, looking thoughtful, picking up items, looking at them, then putting them down again.   
  
“Some of this stuff, yeah. Like model ships—I like that kind of thing. But train sets? I grew out of that. I’m not a little kid.” He snorted, and put down the red boxcar.   
  
Hutch swallowed; yet another example of how this wasn’t his Starsky. There were similarities, and yet many differences. He really was a different man. As if Hutch hadn’t figured that out already…  
  
He still felt like he’d needed Huggy’s reminder. He’d have adopted this Starsky, any Starsky, all the Starskies if he could, if they needed help. And this guy obviously did.  
  
He sat down on Starsky’s couch and crossed his arms. “So tell me about your life. I know I’m not a doctor, but you need somebody to talk to.”  
  
The man gave him a skeptical glance, and snorted. “Yeah, right. I’m gonna spill my beans to _you._ ”  
  
Hutch snorted as well. “Spill your guts. And considering the fact that I won three—no, four—intercollegiate wrestling championships, I think you have to tell me whatever I say.” He was only halfway joking. And Starsky wasn’t here to call him on the number he’d actually won…  
  
The fake Starsky came and plopped down on the chair opposite him, propping his feet up on the coffee table with a defiant, very Starsky-like look.   
  
“Considering the fact that I fought in ‘Nam, I think you have to tell me whatever I say.”  
  
Hutch sat up, his interest caught. “Now, see, that’s a difference right there. My Starsky—he never got combat. He signed up early, and got assigned as a radioman, far from the action.” He smiled a little, feeling like they were making a breakthrough. “So did you see a lot of action?”  
  
“A lot of action?! Hell, brother…” Dave got up and began to pace the room, like a caged beast.   
  
From the disturbed look on his face, Hutch knew he’d pressed a sore spot. Hutch bit his lip, not wanting to say something to make it worse.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
CABRILLO STATE HOSPITAL—THE CAFETERIA  
  
  
  
“So…you change jobs every few months?” Starsky’s hands cupped around a mug of coffee, but he wasn’t drinking it. He and Hutch sat at the cafeteria. It was late, and they were talking.  
  
Hutch shrugged. “I haven’t found the right job, I suppose. My father says I can’t settle down.” He gave a laugh that sounded hollow, like he didn’t want to believe it, but did anyway.  
  
He was holding his mug the same way in mirrored posture. He didn’t look quite comfortable, but he was talking—and about himself, too. He might not be Hutch, but…he was Hutch, too. A much less confident Hutch.  
  
“Your dad’s wrong,” said Starsky. “The Hutch I know is good at settling down to his job—and that didn’t please his father, either, so don’t worry about what that guy thinks.”  
  
“Easy for you to say.” Hutch smiled a little, a rueful look. It was one of the first smiles Starsky had seen on that face in some time. It did his heart good (even if it wasn’t real Hutch, proper Hutch—), and he found himself smiling whole-heartedly back.   
  
“You’ll find the right job.” He reached over and gave the light-haired man an impulsive pat on the arm.  
  
Just like that, Ken’s smile disappeared. “I don’t know. I don’t think so. M-my life is more over than not.”  
  
“What are you talkin’ about? You’re, what, thirty-five?”  
  
Ken nodded miserably—and then sat up straighter, blinking, and looked at him with shock in his eyes. “Hey—how’d you know that?”  
  
Starsky shrugged. “Easy. That’s my Hutch’s age.”  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
CHAPTER THREE  
  
HUGGY’S APARTMENT  
  
  
“This is one crazy jumping juju.” Huggy Bear ran a hand back through his big afro. “Man!” He held it up and squinted, as if to see if the words would become cleaner. “‘Take a note to the Cabrillo Hospital. My man Starsky needs a note. Tell him to wish like crazy on the full moon—tell him to wish his way home. Your friends, Captain America, and the other Bear. P.S. Papa Theodore!’”  
  
Huggy blinked, and shook his head, laying the note down on the table. Papa Theodore—his code word for important, dangerous stuff. He’d been in a bad situation with that crazy dude awhile ago. Barely got out alive. Now, anytime those words showed up he paid attention. The rest of the message didn’t make sense, but—he’d better deliver it, anyway.  
  
He drove over, feeling way out of place, and asked about this Starsky dude. “I’m, uh, a friend. Can I see him?”  
  
The receptionist raised her eyebrows, but nodded and pointed. “He’s out back with one of the orderlies.”  
  
With a shrug, Huggy headed out back. “Man, I hope the crazies don’t rub off on a dude… Then again, we’re all a little crazy.” He walked out with a bouncy, fake confidence. No one need know how uncomfortable he felt.  
  
Only problem—when he reached the outside, and adjusted his shades to handle the sunshine, he looked around…and saw any number of people wandering around, each one with an obvious orderly. He hadn’t been able to ask the lady at the front, either. He was supposed to know this dude, Starsky.  
  
He stood up on a short bench, clapped his hands. “Attention, peoples. Are any of you cats named Star-sky?”  
  
Heads turned. Then a dark-haired man and a light-haired orderly headed turned and headed towards him. The dark-haired man grinned. “Man, Hug—nice Afro.”  
  
“Uh, thanks, man.” He shook his head. “This is some weird juju. I’ve got a note for you.” He looked at the light-haired man. “Are you Captain America?”  
  
Starsky, unfolding the note, peering at it, said, “Yeah, he is. Don’t worry about it, Hutch.” He touched the blond man’s arm.   
  
The blond guy looked at him. “What’s your note say?”  
  
“Uh—gotta wish on a star.” He gave him a pat on the arm. “Don’t worry about it, Blondie.”  
  
“Blondie? You call your pal that, too?” The blonde’s brows rose.  
  
“Sure. All the time.”  
  
“And he puts up with it?!”  
  
Starsky grinned and stuck his tongue out. “All the time, schweetheart.” He turned to Huggy. “Thanks, Hug. It’s great to see you—even if you don’t know me right now. How are things going for you, here? Do you have a bar? Some kind of good business? Hey, do you still sell pet rocks?” He gave an eager grin.  
  
“Man, you dudes are making me feel out of the loop.” Huggy shook his head. “I don’t own a bar. Never did. That’s a good idea, though. Since it seems everyone wants to talk to me—and ask me to pass crazy messages!—maybe it would be the i-deal pro-fession!”  
  
Starsky smiled and patted him on the arm. “It sure would, Hug! You’re at your best when you’re running a business. Especially if it’s somewhat legitimate.” He winked at Huggy.  
  
The Bear left that place feeling like he’d gone through the spin cycle of a washing machine. But he also felt strangely—like he wanted to come back.  
  
  
  
  
  
CABRILLO STATE HOSPITAL  
  
“When you wish upon a star…” Starsky sang off-key, staring out the barred window. He slipped out of his bed and padded over, peering up at the moon. Was it full? It was so hard to tell. But tonight was supposed to be the night.  
  
He’d been wishing as hard as he could.  
  
Wishing, wishing, wishing…  
  
He lay back in bed, at last, squeezing his fists so hard tears came out of his eyes.   
  
_They shouldn’t be related…maybe I really am going nuts._  
  
_Oh please, oh please… I wish I wish I wish…I wanna go home! I wanna go back to Hutch!_  
  
He frowned, gnawing his lip at the thought of the Hutch on this world. Poor Hutch…he really needed someone to encourage him, give him some courage. He needed to find his way in the world. He seemed so lost sometimes.  
  
He bit his lip, and hopped up. They let him have a little tablet for writing and a small, dull pencil. He wrote a short note.  
  
_Dear Ken,  
  
Please think about working for the cops! I think you’d be a good one. I hope you have a good life buddy…   
  
Starsky_  
  
  
He gnawed his lip, and wrote another note.   
  
  
_Note to self:  
Dear Dave.   
  
Hang in there. Ever thought of being a cop??  
  
Starsky_  
  
  
He slid the papers into the drawer.  
  
 _Okay, enough of the Yiddish mama schtick…Get yourself to wishing, boy!_  He lay down again and snuggled under the covers, squeezing his eyes shut, and wished hard…  
  
  
  
  
STARSKY’S PLACE—NIGHT  
  
  
“Hey, goodnight, Dave.” Ken smiled at Dave Starsky, a little wobbly. They’d both had a couple of beers, and they’d been talking all evening. He gave him a pat on the arm. “I’ll—see you later.”  
  
 _Or…you know…never again._    
  
He and Huggy hadn’t told Dave about the whole ‘going back home’ thing. And since Dave didn’t know to wish hard to stay…  
  
Hutch felt guilty about the lie of omission. Who was to say this Starsky would try to stay, just because he seemed to be getting comfortable here?   
  
Tonight, he’d really opened up to Hutch, sharing some painful secrets from his past. Some of them were things Hutch already knew, about Dave’s father dying. That, unfortunately, seemed to be the same for both Daves. And then on top of that there was the other stuff, the ‘Nam stuff…  
  
“You sh’d stay on da coush,” said Dave, trying hard to pronounce each word clearly, and failing. “Ain’t fit t’ drive. An’ you’re a cop—s’pposed t’ know better.” He yawned hugely.  
  
Ken found himself nodding broadly. “Okay. Okay, Dave. I’ll crash on the couch.”  
  
He pulled down the extra pillow and the blanket from their spots, and spread them out.  
  
Dave watched, exhausted but amused. “You do this a lot, doncha?”  
  
“Uh-huh.”  
  
“You r’lly miss ‘im.” He leaned on the doorway when he started to wobble.  
  
“I do, yeah.” He settled himself on the couch, and pulled the blanket up to his chin. For some reason his feet were uncovered now. He sat up, pulled the blanket down over them, and then lay down again and pulled it up to his chin. Huh. Feet uncovered again.  
  
“Here. Lemmee help ya wit’ dat, Hush.” Starsky wobbled forward awkwardly and pulled the blanket down a little further, over the cop’s feet. “An’ ya should prolly take off yer shoes.” He pulled them off, laboriously, one at a time, and then covered Hutch’s feet again and gave them a pat.  
  
Hutch smiled up at him, feeling close to tears. “Thanks, Dave.”  
  
  
  
  
STARSKY’S PLACE—MORNING  
  
Starsky woke up. He knew there was something special about this morning, but he couldn’t remember what. Yawning, he reached up and scratched his hair. It wasn’t very wild… He got out of bed, and padded to the bathroom.   
  
“Hey!” He yelped, when he saw himself in the mirror. No scar! And it was his apartment—he was back home!!  
  
There was a loud thump in the other room, and someone came barreling in.   
“What? What’s the matter?! Dave?”  
  
Starsky turned to him, a huge grin growing on his face. “HUTCH!!” He barreled into Hutch’s arms, squeezing him a giant bear hug.  
  
“Starsky—Starsk?! You’re back…?”  
  
“I’m back—yeah I’m back, you moron! Great job with the note! My buddy! I’m back, I’m back!!” Starsky squeezed tight, closing his eyes and holding Hutch in a death grip.  
  
“Starsk! Starsk! I’m glad you’re back, too!” He thumped and then rubbed Starsky’s back. “Hey, y’know, pal, I need to breath. Are you gonna let go?”  
  
“No.” He looked up at Hutch, smiling, and then tightened his hug further. “Hutch— _my_ Hutch! You’re—I mean I’m—back!”  
  
Hutch chuckled, patted his back again.   
  
Starsky did let go eventually, of course. Then he padded around his apartment, touching various possessions, looking content. And every time he spotted Hutch, his face lit up again with a big grin.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
CABRILLO HOSPITAL—MORNING  
  
  
Ken wandered into Dave’s room, just to see how the guy was doing. He smiled a little, to see he was still sleeping. He spotted two pieces of paper on the little desk. He glanced at Dave again—and then stepped forward to peek at them. Yeah, it was sneaky, but he wasn’t going to touch them—until he saw the top one was addressed to him.  
  
  
_Dear Ken,  
  
Please think about working for the cops! I think you’d be a good one. I hope you have a good life buddy…   
  
Starsky_  
  
  
He read the note with amusement and interest. So, Dave thought he was going somewhere? Well, he was obviously still here…  
  
He bent and ruffled the curly head. “Hey, pal. Time to get up. You’re still here. Don’t you want breakfast?” From what he knew about Starsky, the guy liked to eat!  
  
“Wouldja lemme ‘lone, Hutch?” growled the curly headed guy, peeking up at him from one slit eye. Then it opened wider. “Hutch? Why ya wearin’ that outfiiiiiittttt! Oh, hell, I’m back!” He sat up, and scrubbed a hand back through his wild hair, and glared at Hutch. “I liked the other one better.”  
  
Hutch stood back, his smile cracking a little. “Welcome back, Dave?”  
  
Dave grumbled, and flung his legs out of bed. He wore his dressing gown, and it showed his hairy legs, with their scars. “Aw, hell, so are these.” He scrubbed at his scars, and then looked up, frowning. “Am I gettin’ out of here soon?”  
  
“Well, ‘you’ have been doing well in therapy lately.” Ken hesitated, and then handed the second note to Starsky. “Um. I think the last guy left this to you.” He folded his note, and held it up. “He left me one, too. Don’t worry—I haven’t read yours.”  
  
“Gimmee that.” Dave grabbed his note, with a glare for Ken. He read it over quick. “Ah, the romantic jerk. Thinks I can be a cop, huh? What do I want with more guns an’ working for the government and…” His grumbling voice continued, as he walked into the bathroom, and slammed the door.  
  
Ken sat down on the bed, and let his breath out in a sigh. He’d just been beginning to care about one Starsky, only to have him be replaced by another. He ran a hand back through his hair. They’d get through this somehow…   
  
Wait, why was he thinking of them as a team?  
  
He smiled, and shook his head, got up and left the room quietly. “The other one must’ve rubbed off on me.”  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
CABRILLO HOSPITAL—AFTERNOON  
  
Dave watched the blond orderly approach. He raised a hand and smiled a tentative smile, and started across the lawn. And tripped over his own feet to land in the grass. Dave worked to conceal his grin, but it was impossible. Was the other Hutch this clumsy? He certainly wasn’t this nervous…  
  
Dave missed the cop; there were no two ways about it. He’d been a kind of jailer, but he’d also become a friend. Dave had never told anyone else some of the things he’d shared with the cop. And the man had just listened, sometimes with tears shining in his eyes, and sometimes nodded and said, “Go on,” or “I’m sorry.”  
  
Dave had never met anyone like him, who could be both tough and emotional. He hadn’t seemed ashamed to get teary-eyed over another man’s bad memories.  
  
Dave missed that man—missed him most of all, since landing back in his old life. He’d snapped at the blond orderly—practically bitten his head off when he discovered he was back—all for the crime of being the wrong Hutch.  
  
Now the orderly seemed like he was still willing to associate with Dave, give him another try.  
  
Perhaps this guy had some good stuff going on inside, too. Even if he wasn’t a confident cop.  
  
He walked over to where Hutch was dusting himself off in chagrin. “Hey. Need a hand? You always this clumsy?”  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
BAY CITY—THE ORIGINAL VERSION  
  
Dave threw himself into his old life, walking with a decided bounce in his step, whistling while he worked, practically drooling and hugging his car when he first saw it. “Aw…my baby…!” he said, grinning broadly.   
  
He threw his arms around Huggy the first time he saw him. “I owe you a big thank-you, buddy! You got the message through great—I dunno how ya did it, but I love ya for it!”  
  
Huggy patted his back, chuckling, and glancing at Hutch. “You too, Curly, but ya ain’t my type.”   
  
“You’re really throwing yourself into things, aren’t you?” said Hutch later, after Starsky flung himself after some bad guys as if they had ice cream hidden in their jackets and he hadn’t eaten in weeks. He dusted Starsky’s shirt off. “Take care of yourself, buddy, okay? I don’t want to see you in another kind of hospital.”  
  
“It’s okay. I’m fine.” He cast Hutch a quick grin. “I’m livin’ each day to the fullest, that’s all. I got a good life, y’know, Hutch? I like it. It ain’t perfect—heck, it’s got _you_ in it—but it’s a good one.” He gave Hutch a grin.  
  
Hutch grinned back, hearing the authentic sentiment behind his word. “So you’re saying… _carpe diem,_ seize the day.”  
  
“Hutch. I think you got that wrong. It’s _carpe diem_ …fish a day.” He laughed.   
  
They both laughed.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
CABRILLO HOSPITAL  
  
“So…do you have somewhere to go when you get out?” Ken glanced at Dave’s face, a little nervously. The patient could be awfully prickly sometimes; today might be one of the times he’d bite Ken’s head off.  
  
Sure enough, Dave gave him a glare. “What’s that supposed to mean?”  
  
Ken threw his arms wide in exasperation. “I’m asking if you want to crash at my place for a few days, you moron!” He turned away in exasperation. “You know what, forget it. I’m sorry I asked.”  
  
“Ken.” The soldier caught his sleeve. Ken turned back, to see a small smile on the guy’s face. “That’s the way. Do ya good to get mad about somethin’ once in awhile. Maybe you _could_ be a cop.”  
  
“Hey—how do you know that’s what my note said?!”  
  
“I might not be a big-shot college graduate like you, but I ain’t stupid.” He smiled at Ken, and gave him a light punch on the arm. “I’d love to stay with you for a couple days.”  
  
Ken found a silly smile growing on his face—and a wonderful feeling of relief. The guy wasn’t just a grump; there was more going on inside. Maybe they could be friends after all. “That’d be great.”   
  
The brunet nodded, looking as though he was trying hard not to look awfully pleased.  
  
“You know…Dave…” Ken ran a hand back through his hair, and grinned. “This could be the beginning of a bee-you-tee-ful friendship.” He grinned sheepishly at his terrible accent.  
  
“Hey!” Dave’s brows shot up. “I’m supposed to get that line! Bogie’s my schtick!”  
  
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